Dark Changes
by Farouk Shaaban
Summary: War comes... not with a bang or a shout, but with a whisper. The gods of old are rising once more to take their rightful place, and through their agents they will bring Remnant to its knees...
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone.**

**I've had some…… interesting ideas brewing in my head lately, from original stories and worlds to just my crazy head producing some random crap every few seconds on repeat. But out of all of these ideas this one kept popping up, mostly because I was so pumped with all of the new Chaos models and books being pushed by GW these past two years, and I figured I would finally act on it.**

**Originally this was going to be a reboot of Dancing in the Garden, but it has since evolved into its own special beast, one that I've fed very well after the reveal that Atlas and Mantle are under heavy military control after the Fall of Beacon(thanks volume 7, in addition to bringing back Penny you created a perfect place for chaos to bloom). We won't be starting there though, I'll take us back to volume 1 and will explore the criminal underground for a bit, where(in my opinion) the seeds of chaos have the best chance to grow.**

**If this doesn't sound interesting to you then I wish you a good day. If it does then stick around for awhile and offer your own twisted ideas, and maybe they'll make it into the story proper.**

**WARNING **

**The following story contains extreme forms of HERESY. Examples include**

**Chaos **

**Cultists**

**That Which Shall Not be Named**

**Oc's**

**Gangs **

**Deviations from the RWBY storyline(like Ozpin not being demonized for keeping humanity's hopes up, reasonable police).**

**Foul language**

**I don't own Warhammer in any of its myriad versions, nor do I own RWBY. They are own byGames Workshop and Rooster Teeth respectively. I will only say this once.**

** Dark Changes**

**Chapter 1: On The Winds of Change…..**

The kingdom of Vale is considered the most prosperous of the four kingdoms of Remnant. Easy access to the ocean, natural defenses against Grimm, and the routine purging of the few that sneak through by the students of Beacon Academy have given way to an era of peace surpassing the time before the Great War.

It was also because of this stability that crime had been able to grow so quickly inside the humble city. While many of its citizens prefer not to dwell on this subject, clinging to the fragile ignorance that they are a beacon of decency in a world sliding ever closer back to the dark ages of barbarism and hatred, at the end of the day that is simply not the case.

In every civilization there is a tipping point where the population is simply too large for the resources available to be spread equally. When combined with the last vestigial instinct for man to divide himself into different roles and ranks from when we were simple monkeys trying to avoid becoming a meal, it means that eventually there will be a group of people who are left to struggle and die while the better off grow fat and happy. The most cunning and ruthless of these downtrodden fight tooth and nail for the smallest scrap of power and begin to gather like- minded individuals in an effort to consolidate that measly scrap into something more.

These groups go by many names: gangs, cartels, syndicates, mobs, and may even be able to pass themselves off as legitimate businesses. Often one member will become the leader or "face" of the gang, giving the group a scapegoat or a figure to turn to when things get bad.

Roman Torchwick, Adam Taurus, Madam Malachite…… whenever these names are spoken in the public domain, they are met with fear, disgust, and, in some cases, respect. But they are just the tip of the strange subculture known as the criminal underworld.

It is well known that every organization survives on its myths and reputation and will develop its own unique rivalries and traditions. Police officers will drink at certain bars and each precinct is its own kingdom to be managed by its captain. In the military each branch will claim that they are better than the other and create their own slang to describe enemies and combat situations. This is no less true amongst the criminal element, who create various initiations, mandate certain clothes to be worn, and require tattoos with meaning only to those who are a member of the same gang as the tattooed. Many of these traditions are leftover pieces of culture from when their ancestors were immigrants struggling to make a living, an old saying here, an odd belief there. Sometimes a small religion is kept up solely by one group of crooks descended from a village long since destroyed by time, war, and Grimm.

These beliefs often focus on a group of four or more deities, or sometimes just one in particular, that highlight a certain aspect of civilization and its negative opposite. A god of War and Bloodshed, a master of Hope and Treachery, a being of Beauty and Excess, or a Father of Life and Decay. Most of the time these rituals are scoffed at, considered nothing more than a bit of legend twisted to fit the purpose of the criminals who hide in the shadows. But sometimes…… sometimes these cults are made up of the truly faithful, offering sacrifices and prayer in the dark corners where no one sane would ever dare to look.

_**And sometimes the gods listen………**_

City of Vale Dockyards

In the ever busy docks of the Kingdoms of Vale's harbor, a dread ritual was occurring. The faithful gathered slowly, wearing long robes and elaborate masks to conceal their true faces. They marched in groups no bigger than nine through the seemingly ever changing labyrinth of cargo containers and machinery. They followed seemingly random paths, marked with graffiti that only held gravitas with those familiar with the cults secrets and forbidden lore. As the acolytes grew ever closer to their destination, the veil between reality and the beyond grew ever thinner. Voices whispered madness, and faces of the long departed could be seen for brief seconds, highlighted by multicolored light of the few torches that lit the path.

Eventually they made their way to the ancient warehouse, long forgotten by the kingdom they toiled for but built to endure the harsh bite of time. Once inside, the cultists shed their cloaks, revealing their bodies covered in tattoos of dark scripture and devotional images that seemed to writhe and distort themselves as soon as they were no longer viewed. Soon the faithful joined their voices in ritual chant, offering praise to The Architect of Fate in the hopes that tonight their prayers might finally be answered and one of his loyal servants would bless them with his presence. In the center of the warehouse, a complex circle had been drawn with the blood of nine mad souls. In this circle were nine suits of armour, their design ornate, covered in what appeared to be ancient Vacuan text and symbols. These were known as the Nine Ravens and had been the sole objective of the cult's efforts since its inception.

Standing in the center of the circle was the magus of the cult, known only to his followers as The Tattered Scholar, his features hidden under an ornate robe made from various materials and designs. His face was wizened with age and the knowledge he held locked within his mind. Soon after 80 long years his lifelong goal will finally be completed, and with it, his long awaited reward.

The when the ritual entered its final stage he began to chant in the forbidden tongue, each syllable tearing his scarred vocal cords with each utterance, until blood was freely flowing from his mouth. One by one the eyes of the Ravens began to glow with a pale blue fire as they subtlety leached the souls of the cultists in the room, necessary sacrifices to allow his master into the material world. As the last cultist died The Scholar finished his chant, the power of the mass betrayal and his followers shattered hope tore a hole in the thin veil. From this tear a man step forth, his form shimmering with barely contained power, flickering between the two realms despite of the Scholar's efforts. Much like the prized Ravens he wore an ornate set of blue and gold armour, it's blue plate covered in whirling script and ancient phrases of protection and fealty. In his right hand he held an ornate but ancient flintlock pistol, wrought into the shape of a serpent's skull, in his left was a long staff topped with the ancient symbol of Hynek's shared god. His face was hidden behind a horned helm, but his eyes glowed with an ever changing fire.

"My lord, I have completed my long task," the Scholar said as he bowed before this warrior of change "I have spent my life in the service of the Architect of Fate and have no plans of changing that one fact, I only regret that it has taken me so long to complete my given goal." The horned knight took a few moments to contemplate his blatant ass kissing before he spoke "Indeed you have," his voice sounded so….. normal, and relatively young, despite the fact that The Tattered Scholar had been listening to this voice for decades "and here is your reward."

A searing pain filled every bit of the decrepit old man's being as the raw power of Chaos filled his being, but it was a good pain. His muscles swelled with new strength, his body warping with the gifts of his lord Tzeentch, and he could hear his laughter echoing in the warehouse, unaware of the presence that was slowly carving out his body to make it its own until it was far too late…… what was once a man now rose from its knees as nothing more than a puppet of flesh for the creature within.

While the change took place in his former tool's body, the sorcerer looked around the warehouse, taking stock of the tomes and scrolls kept hidden and preserved. "This will do nicely….. wouldn't you agree old friend?"

The Tattered Scholar turned to face its benefactor, a too wide smile showing off its collection of jagged teeth "Indeed Azraq, a fitting place to help this kingdom burn."

Azraq smiled behind his helm as he gazed at the shattered moon, imagining the carnage that will unfold according to his many plans…..

Meanwhile throughout the city, omens are sent by rival gods to their worshippers in an attempt to prepare them for what is to unfold.

In the waste management plants and garbage dumps the children of decay are awoken to find that their fevers are broken and new symptoms occur in diseases that have never been recorded. The lords of disease gather their families around ancient, gnarled trees, and ring the ancient bells hanging from their branches.

In the pleasure houses and dance clubs across the city, men and women alike are driven to commit every depraved act under the sun. Each elicit feeling coming from the pain and misery of others as the sons and daughters of pleasure celebrate the newest song gifted to them by their dark muse. The finest duelists in the land polish their weapons to perfection, waiting for the chance to feed their egos and vanity.

In the ash choked industrial area an unfortunate menial is thrown into a vat of molten metal hewn in the shape of an angry bull. His companions mourn his death, while at the same time thanking their own gods that it was him instead of them sacrificed in the name of the ashen bull. In payment for the sacrifice a fell rune is formed from the metal, held in the hand of the smith priest who ruled over the forge, and he found it's message to be clear as day.

The blades of the lord of skin and sinew hunger for new challenges, no longer satisfied with hunting down their rivals and each other. Paths are sworn and skulls are stacked in his sacred image.

And in the towers of both the Wizard and the Queen the wind blows the scent of tainted magic into the air. Both are shocked by this event, both believe it to be the other's doing, and when both find that this is not the case they rally their allies and thralls in preparation for the likes of which have not been seen in millennia.

**Well? What do you think? If you like this story then leave a review and stick around, if not then don't report me to the commissar or the inquisition. Until next time.**


	2. Chapter 2

-Hello everyone welcome back to Dark Changes, I am the poor chronicler who has been forced to write this tale of death and blasphemy for you all to enjoy. Of course this is simply because I enjoy bringing the primordial truth to all foolish worshippers of Sigmar or the Corpse Emperor(whichever you prefer). Though I may be on my way to becoming a corpse myself as Lord of Change(of Death Korps of Justice fame) has decided to follow this story, so keep an eye out for a boy from Krieg and we should be fine.

Now then, let's get on with answering some reviews.

Jetjedi: I think I have the gist of your comment down and yes there will be a list of Chaos undivided.

Ironwall: congratulations sir, you used the second most iconic battle cry(perhaps besides WAAGGGHHHHH!!!) for the first time in this fic.

Guest: indeed they shall learn the might of the Trye Gods.

Guest: first off, great comment, secondly without giving up much of the plot I have planned out I can confirm that there will be a lot more death and destruction(and maybe some corruption)...

Guest: Ask and ye shall receive………..

Chapter 2: Waltzing into The Garden

Life and Death

Two sides of the same coin, a single truth writ into the very atoms of everything from the smallest insect to the universe itself. Without death we could not enjoy life, and without the gift of life the universe would be an empty void. Mankind has always feared death, giving it various faces and forms, designing vast underworlds for the kind and the wicked to dwell in when they close their eyes one last time. This fear is so ingrained in our species that it leaks into civilization.

The various false beliefs of Remnant all preach in one way or another that life is sacred, promising the worst punishments for those who spit in the face of the greatest gift in the universe. Science and medicine were advanced with the unspoken goal of extending the amount of years were given on the mortal plane. Yet for all the talk of the sacredness of life, we casually step on insects when they accidentally wander into homes. mice and rats are considered creepy pets by the kindhearted, and disease spreading vermin by everyone else, and countless billions of bacteria are destroyed every day whenever we wash our hands.

However, there is one being in this vast universe that can truly consider all life as sacred. His followers are the lost and forgotten, the wretched beings society wishes to forget; to these wretched souls he is a benevolent patriarch, taking away their pain and gifting them with all sorts of wonderful gifts. Indeed Grandfather Nurgle, master of life and decay can be considered the most benevolent of the gods of Chaos(not a difficult feat when his competition is considered), and it is quite possible that when the universe enters into its final death throes that only the Lord of the Flies will be standing when all his rivals are nothing but dust………

City of Vale's SewageTreatment Plant…….

To outsiders the Vale sewage treatment plant was just a simple, unimportant looking building. Most people don't even think about where their waste goes after they flush the toilet, with the most common guess being that the kingdom just dumps it into the ocean. While there is some truth to this theory, amongst the worshippers of decay a different process occurs.

Inside the plant the corrupted water is "cleaned" by Daemonic biofiltration units inside vast reservoirs. Instead of absorbing the waste material and breaking it down into an inert form, the filters collected the filth to be harvested by the diseased crab faunus that stood at the edge of the tanks with large nets. These nets are collected and placed inside large cauldrons stirred by pox maddened shamans as the little sentient balls of daemonflesh known as Nurglings capered about doing whatever they pleased. These brews are slowly stirred over the course of several decades until the new noxious life within their rusted girth is ready to be released onto the populace.

All this is information that Azraq Iahab was able to gleam from a spell hidden by his former puppet within the plant. He had had the Tattered Scholar sneak specially made icons hidden in many buildings that had the potential to be cult outposts in Vale throughout the years, though it had cost the lives of many acolytes(especially in the areas controlled by the blood god), he now he had eyes in every major building in Vale besides Beacon Academy.

This didn't mean that he knew the exact strength of each cult, or their opinions on such frivolous things as "diplomacy", which is why he was starting with the friendliest of the Four Brothers.

Azraq had left his armour back at the warehouse as it was too conspicuous for the modern era. Today he wore a simple long sleeve blue shirt, green cargo pants(with many pockets for hiding a knife or artefacts), around his neck he wore a necklace bearing protective script against possession and manipulation. He left his face exposed, revealing his tan skin and midnight blue hair, as well as his eyes. If Azraq was vain about anything it was his eyes, they had been changed by his patron so that his eye color was always changing, it unnerved people when they made eye contact with him and gave him an advantage in negotiations.

His approach had been noticed by those inside, for a small group of cultists were waiting outside the entrance. The first thing Azraq noticed was that they were all wearing some form of a mask on their faces. Some were flies, others were stylized crows, the second thing he noticed was the man leading them.

Their leader was the most concerning of the plague afflicted rabble, standing over seven feet tall he was armed with a rather large flail, the spiked heads modified into censers filled with plague infused incense that slowly fell to the ground. His face was covered with a gas mask modified to give the appearance of a fly. His protective garments were reinforced with rusted plates, broken chains, and scavenged bits of bone. What was truly alarming about him was his lack of plague distended gut, he was essentially all skin, bones, and disease atrophied muscle underneath his suit, signifying some form of blessing from his deity.

"Who comes to the house of the Father of Flies at this hour?" The champion asked, his voice was muffled by his mask, and came off as a deep growl. Azraq smirked as he replied "Merely a humble servant of the Whisperer in the Dark."

Both of them had used one of their deities lesser guises in their introduction, out of habit and paranoia. In the ancient days worshipping the true gods would often lead to the death of the worshipper(especially when a kingdom discovered the human sacrifices some cults favored), and so came about the false names of the Gods. Some cultists went their entire worthless lives praising these names, never knowing how vast their patron truly is in power. This tradition became even more necessary in recent years despite being in the so called age of "Creativity and Expression" Remnant entered after the war, as it seemed that the freedom to be who you truly are only existed when you stayed within a certain line.

The champion left out a wheezing laugh at that, as did the rest of his gang "There is no such thing." He said before devolving into a coughing fit.

"True," Azraq admitted "But I do come with an offer for Rustigan Carrionskin."

That bit of information caused the champion to lift his flail menacingly, with the rest of his rabble bringing out knives or rusted pistols. "How did you hear that name?" He asked, already somewhat knowing the answer.

"A little Raven told me," Azraq replied,a smirk slowly growing on his face "now are you going to let me in or should I just leave?"

Alright I hate doing this but I'm going to divide this into two chapters, it's taking longer than expected and I need to work on my other stories. Please leave a review or pm me if you have anything to say about this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello and welcome back to another chapter of Dark Changes! I will now offer up a sincere apology for both splitting the last chapter into a two parter, and that cause I posted the last chapter via the app the text became standard instead of bold when I was typing up the author's notes section(I'll go back and fix that). Now that we're done with that notice I'll just answer the review.**

**Also apologies for not updating sooner, school, sports, all that jazz, but now that I'm stuck in Quarantine I figure I have all the time in the world.**

**DashingxRogue thank you kind sir. **

**Guest: Nurgle is a great chap, but he's not the best.**

**And now onto the next chapter!**

**Chapter 3: The Vision of What's to Come**

Foul

That was the only word Azraq could use to describe the smell that hung in the air of the building as he was escorted ever deeper into its corridors. Of course a foul smell was to be expected of a sewage treatment plant, this was where the waste of a city state was separated from the water needed by every natural living creature on Remnant. The smell that emanated from the very concrete was the smell of the natural cycle being pushed into overdrive for far too long.

This was the smell of the worshippers of _**Nurgle**_, it was the smell of tradition and depression, it was the very antithesis of all that Azraq had worshipped since the truth was revealed to him all those years ago, but for now he decided it would be better for him to keep his mouth shut and follow the men armed with guns a lot more advanced than the flintlock he left at the warehouse.

As he was led into the facility the champion that met him out front kept shooting him wary glances, as if begging Azraq to start a fight so that he had a reason to use the flail he was holding so hard his knuckles were turning white.

"You know I would at least like to know the name of the person who's going to try to kill me before I incinerate him." Azraq muttered, just loud enough for the other champion to hear.

"... Taeun the Penitent at your service?" The now named Taeun responded, "And I wouldn't "try" to kill you mister?"

"Azraq Iahab."

"A pleasure mister Iahab," Taeun joyfully said with the seemingly bipolar switch from his previous grim feeling the worshippers of Nurgle were known for, "and might I ask what business you have with lord Carrionskin?"

Azraq barely held in a snort, Nurgle's children: so loyal to the old ways of chivalry and feudalism, it was damn near pathetic. "Merely the whispers of opportunity for many individuals to advance themselves upon The Path."

Now that caught Taeun's attention "Truly?" His voice trying to hide the hopeful undertone, after all it was rare for someone to ascend in a world desperate to maintain such a fragile facade of peace and harmony. There was no room for bloodthirsty warlords and their warbands, nor for the plague and famine that could follow in their wake, there was no room for the common man to scheme his way to the top as so called "Nobles" secured their position through law and tradition, and who needed a den of perverse pleasures in a world dedicated to making it's people subdued?

In short, the Gods gave few chances for eternal glory in this day and age, it made sense to question anyone who said they knew a way to do so, even more so when that person was a devout worshipper of the god whose domain included lies and betrayal.

Soon the group came across a makeshift laboratory filled with the sounds of hissing liquids and classical music as a priest worshipped his god in the only way he knew how.

Rustigan Carrionskin was a rather bloated husk of a man, seemingly towering over the unnaturally tall Tauen, a tattered lab coat barely containing his pustule covered body. His namesake became clear as soon as one took a closer look at his skin, which was riddled with wounds that would never heal, the cells no longer regenerating. "I take it you've brought me the vulture who was flying around upstairs Tauen?"

"Indeed my lord," Tauen said as he lowered his head in difference. "He claims to have a way to advance on _The Path_."

"Oh, this bird brings a prophecy?" Rustigan chuckled

"It appears so my lord."

"Is that right, little bird?" Rustigan said as he turned towards the small follower of the trickster god, his voice filling with mockery "Did you trade a part of your soul away to your untrustworthy god for a little _poem_?"

Though he didn't show it on his face in any noticeable way, Azraq was starting to become angry. Insult his faith? That was normal amongst the servants of the Pantheon, have him surrounded by armed guards? Smart move, taking everything he said with a grain of salt? Gods that's just common sense, but mock his craft? That was pushing it.

"... Sorry I do not have "a little poem" today," he shot back "I do however, have clues from the Realm Immaterial, as well as information gathered by those loyal to The Great Changer."

"And pray tell, what does this information tell you?"

Azraq waited a few moments before speaking again "War is coming, it will start here in Vale and will spread to consume all of Remnant." He began to look around at everyone in the room, his eyes igniting with the faintest hint of spectral fire.

"Already the stage is set for such an event: the people are afraid, not of the ravenous hordes that pound at the gates and hide in the shadows waiting to strike, but of the neighbor whose only crime was to be touched by the Gods." It was clear to most of the room that he was referring to the Faunus. Azraq had started to pace around the room, building up the tension that had formed the moment he had been escorted into the depths of the building.

"Surely your shamans have seen the signs? The Black Queen, that delusional upstart who believes herself a Goddess, has been sending her pawns to create havoc in each of the Kingdoms. The White Fang has begun to stain its fangs with the blood of the innocent: be they Human or _Faunus_!"

The room was filled with murmurs and grunts as the various cultists began to argue amongst themselves, Tauen's face was unreadable behind his gasmask, but it was becoming clear that he was starting to believe in what Azraq was preaching.

"And what do the Gods wish for us to do?" he asked his audience, " It's simple really, they want us to _speed it along_! This so-called world of "Bloody Evolution" has become soft and tame since that pathetic excuse of a conflict the heathens call The Great War!"

"But most of all," the blue haired teen whispered, almost to the point one might have mistaken it for the wind "The Four who reign supreme and all the daemons and demigods who fall under their Eightfold banner want us to _spread the word…_ the average person of any of the Kingdoms is a skeptic at best and an atheist at worse, the Gods wish for those souls going to the False Twins and the void to belong only to them, in short the Gods want a bloody _**Black Crusade."**_

He now spoke only to Rustigan, who wore a scowl that had deepened with each word that spilled from Azraq's lips "You doubt my words and believe me to have a hidden agenda? Of course I do, I am a sorcerer of _**Tzeentch**_, who is also known as T'char, Tahoth, The Whisperer in The Dark, The Bronze Vulture, The Beast With Many Forms, and nine hundred and ninety three other names! But know now that I speak only the truth, and if that is not so then may the Flesh Curse take me now."

The room fell silent at that dreadful oath, for no soul no matter how tainted would risk _spawndom _while walking upon the Path to Daemonhood. Soon all eyes turned to face Rustigan, waiting to see what the senior champion would say about such a promising prophecy.

The rotting giant merely laughed.

"Is that all you have to say little vulture?" He muttered "Would you believe that your pretty little sermon and your very dangerous oath would convince me to bring about _change_?"

At this Azraq allowed a viscous grin to form on his face "No, but I believe it convinced mister Tauen."

It was at the exact moment that Rustigan realized he wasn't Azraq's target audience that Tauen made his move. The so called Penitent swung his flail in a wide arc, hoping to bash in the older champion's head. Instead the plagued giant lifted his left arm, letting the chains wrap around the thick flesh while his right arm delivered a heavy hook to Tauen's left side.

"You dare boy?!" Rutsigan roared, "I bring you to the Grandfather's embrace and this is how you repay my generosity?!"

"You would turn down a gift from the divine because it comes from the mouth of our Lord's rival?!" Tauen screamed "HOW CAN YOU BE SO FOOLISH?!"

"Foolish?! I'll show you who is foo-" his response was stopped midway through by a pair of knives being slammed into his lungs, courtesy of one servant of the God of Treachery.

Silence once again filled the room, interrupted only by the dying gurgles of the usurped champion.

It was Tauen who reinitiated conversation between the two of them "I just killed the man who taught me the glory of the Plague Lord, who saved me in my darkest hour, so you better have been telling the truth about this upcoming war, or so help me I'll infect you with diseases so brutal spawndom will look pleasant."

Once again Azraq felt a smile creeping onto his face "It's already in motion my new friend."

**Downtown Vale, Junior's Club**

Roman Torchwick was many things, a gangster, a thief, a gentleman, an admittedly racist person, but he was not an idiot. That was why when he was reached out to by one of the oldest criminals in Vale with a job, well he'd be an idiot not to take it, and he'd be even more of an idiot not to come with a bodyguard.

This was why he was sitting in the corner of Junior's place, Neo by his side, with the Tattered Scholar sitting across from him.

"Thank you for meeting with me ," The cloaked figure spoke with a whisper-like voice, "I was quite pleased when you accepted my invitation."

"Well what can I say? When one of the… let's say _most accomplished_ criminals in the history of the kingdom seeks you out, it's not smart to turn them down." Roman replied as he shot a quick glance towards Neo, who was shaking her head in agreement, "So what can I do for you today ?"

The Scholar took a few moments to think before answering his question "Nothing too grand….. I find that as I grow older I turn my eyes away from running my _business_ to what comes after this life."

"As you may guess from your own experiences I have made many enemies in the decades I've been in this treacherous game of ours, in particular I've made enemies of those who share a similar religion as my own."

Roman nodded in understanding, while he couldn't get the part religion played in any of this, he knew the feeling of having to look over your shoulder. "And how will I be able to figure out who these enemies of yours are?"

A soft sound that could have been a laugh escaped the ragged cloak "Oh it won't be too hard, our faith has us incorporate chains and locks into our everyday appearances….. A sign that we must always keep our true selves hidden until the Chosen Day. I wish you to find out where my enemies call home, and how many people are under their banners."

Now Roman was confused, "Forgive my rudeness sir, but wouldn't you know exactly who your enemies are?"

"I find that one of the first things to go after my strength is my memory, young man." \

Roman nodded "Don't worry sir, I'll hunt down your old foes."

And with that they shook hands and went their separate ways, it wasn't until they were out of eyesight that Neo "spoke".

"_Why are we taking on what is essentially a wild goose chase? We already have that Cinder bitch breathing down our backs, now we have to deal with the old geezer."_

Roman simply ran his hand through her hair "Because my elegant little friend, the old coot is…. Was the greatest spymaster in all of the Four Kingdoms and beyond, it's better for us to give him a reason not to look at us too closely, less he discovers our new boss." WIth that said the criminal duo continued to walk on home, unaware of the creature wearing the skin of the man they were working for was following them from the shadows…

**Things are starting to shape up rather nicely if I do say so myself, and I do!**

**Once again I apologize for taking too long with this story, rest assured that the current quarantine has given me more than enough time to work on all of my stories, and that another chapter will appear relatively soon, until then please leave a review and stay healthy.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello and welcome back to another chapter of Dark Changes, where Chaos reigns and we'll bash the parts of RWBY that don't make any natural sense(factoring in the normal suspension of disbelief needed for a sci-fi/fantasy show). Though if I'm being honest I can't tell if any of you guys like what I'm doing(leave reviews pls), but until then I'll stick with the story I have in mind!**

**Chapter 4: Half the Battle…**

Taeun Akdhir, known as The Penitent to those who worshipped the same gods as he did, woke up in his small crumbling apartment in one of the more rundown areas of Vale. The first thing he noticed was that all of his bones ached with a familiar dull pain, the second was a thought that was racing through his head.

_I killed a fellow champion of Nurgle_.

This thought would eat at him on and off throughout the day, he just knew it, but for now other matters held precedence.

Getting out of his bed Taeun stumbled over to his bathroom, as always he took a few moments to look in the mirror to see if there were any new "gifts" from his chosen god. The mirror would show his eyes were yellow and bloodshot from past bouts of malaria and various flus, his skin hollowed to the point where you could count his teeth if you looked closely enough; no blistering poxes, open sores oozing with pus, or even something as simple as a big ass fucking pimple on his forehead! It seemed that The Grandfather was still punishing Taeun for his most grievous sin: rejecting the first blessing he had been given due to ignorance.

With a sigh he finished off his morning routine of brushing his teeth, showering(it might seem paradoxical for him to do this, but Taeun knew any diseases he had on his skin would be collected at the plant), and getting dressed in his battle armor/work clothes, with the only change being that instead of his gas mask he wore a simple hospital mask. Finally he made his way over to a small shrine he had built in the corner of his room and prayed to Papa Nurgle for the blessing of glorious infection and for protection from the machinations of the other gods as he went about his day and then made his way towards the door that connected his small pocket of decay to the rest of the world. Today was rather important in the grand scheme of things, for today he met with the sorcerer to prepare for The Black Crusade.

A Crusade… he'd only heard legends of such gatherings of followers of Chaos from the shamans and veteran cultists, and they painted quite a picture.

An army of the faithful united by the ferocity and charisma of a cruel tyrant, blessed by the gods and on the final steps to eternal glory as a Prince amongst the immortal. Under his banner marched a numberless horde of warriors, barbarians, monsters, and even daemons! They did not bow to one god, but to the entirety of the Eight Star! Champions from all corners of the world would compete in contests against each other, hoping to gather enough followers to lead their own warbands when the time came that their leader either ascended to daemonhood, or fell to spawndom. No town was safe from their pillaging, no fortress strong enough to keep them out, they would fight until either the warrior who launched the crusade succeeded/failed and left the mortal plane, or until the horde was torn apart by the differing beliefs of it's warriors, or ,very rarely, the Grimm overwhelmed them(the Gods tend to focus on the negative emotions after all).

It sounded too good to be true…. And unfortunately it probably was just that. For all their preaching of understanding and tolerance, the Four Kingdoms and their outlying villages on the so called frontier generally followed one simple guideline: The Grimm are attracted to negative emotions, so keep your population happy! This rule generally tended only to count to humans until relatively recently, but many faunus were still unhappy(as evidenced by The White Fang), but that didn't mean the governments didn't do everything in their power to try and keep the population in good spirits. People were encouraged to spend time "out on the town", drinking, dancing, and just having a good time; the homeless were either given shelter or sent out to form new townships, no matter how unlikely it was that those new towns would last longer than a few years people still kept on going out(better to have a roof on your head than no roof at all), that all went out the door when it came to mental illness. If someone was deemed "mentally ill" it was quickly swept under the rug for most diseases(autism for example), or they were given enough pills to make a daemonette jealous, with the truly unhelpable cases being sent off to an Asylum.

'Ahh the Asylums,' Taeun thought, 'The best kept open-secret in Remnant.' While on paper the Asylums took care of the people in their care(and Taeun had heard from cultists who had been in one of them) that after a while the Asylums were forced by law to "relocate" their wards into the middle of a Grimm infested forest. This served to keep the largest herds away from the cities, and get rid of a drain on taxpayers money: a political win/win!

The other problem standing in the way of Azraq's promise was the fact that the number of cultists was relatively low, maybe three hundred to a thousand in Vale proper, and they all tended to be at each other's throats(even those who worshipped the same god), enough to overthrow a small city but not enough to engulf the world into eternal war. This was not factoring in age, health, or sanity, for those mattered not to the gods so long as one was willing to fight, nor did it factor the losses each cult tended to suffer at the hands of criminals, the enforcers, or the occasional Huntsmen trainee from Beacon going out and delivering vigilante style justice(it says something about the incompetence of a city's police force when this kind of shit is the norm). All in all it was looking like the sorcerer's words were just that, words, but he had given his word he would support this foolhardy plan, and his word was his oath.

He soon came across the local diner that he and Azraq had agreed to meet up at last night, the Tzeentchian bastard wanted to meet at the library but Taeun had made it clear that since he(Azraq) needed Taeun's men, he got to choose the meeting place. He had arrived half an hour early so that he could order a burger and milkshake.

As soon as his order arrived the blue haired bastard walked through the door and sat down next to him "I see you've made yourself comfortable my friend."

Taeun glared at him "We are not friends."

"No, we are not," Azraq admitted "Now then, let us get down to business. I need information about every major cult in the Vale area: Name, numbers, and what aspect they worshipped."

This caused the Nurglite to snort "Is that all?" when he saw that the only thing changing about Azraq's face was his eye color he let out a sigh before taking a long sip of his chocolate milkshake(a classic, just the way Nurgle likes it). When he was done he took a moment to collect his thoughts ``Alright since you're asking me we'll start with the local Maggotkin community, my group(the poorly named Scions of Rust at the moment) currently has around seventy seven members and control the area surrounding the water treatment plant for about three or four blocks depending on the last turf war. We worship Nurgle as The Bloated Collector, combing the water for valuable diseases and relics that he gifts to his most faithful… The only other group are the pretentious "Cult of Ruinous Reincarnation" that operates out of a funeral parlor, as the name suggests they think that they'll be reborn in the Garden if they're pious enough.``

"So I take it they all have Nurgle's Rot?"

"Who's giving who information here? But yes they do and they're so pretentious about it! Now if it's alright with you I'm going to skip the Tzeentchians for obvious reasons(a nod) okay now we'll move onto the Hedonite faction in Vale "The Cult of Pleasure Made Flesh", they're led by a guy calling himself "The Sublime Edge", a man so arrogant he claims to be The Lost God/Goddess reborn."

Azraq let out a groan "Oh Gods damn it not a Pretender."

"I know, they're the worst," Taeun admitted "Rustigan once told me there were originally two different factions of Hedonites in Vale, the douche Pretenders and a Seeker group named "The Bleeding Note"."

"Sounds interesting, whatever happened to them?" the sorcerer asked as curiosity filled his psychedelic eyes. "Wait, don't tell me… They were defeated by the other faction and were therefore subsumed into the Pretender host."

"Indeed, they duked it out about two and a half decades earlier. Their war was so wild that the nascent Team STRQ(Stark) of Beacon tried to put a stop to it." when he didn't get any response from that name drop he did a quick "I'll fill you in later" gesture "(Un)fortunately the war was already over by the time the authorities actually gave a shit, the two leading Champions had agreed to a duel: loser would forfeit their life as well as their followers, needless to say we know who won."

"What happened to the Seeker Champion?"

"I've heard three different rumours, each one of them sounds good enough to be true. The first one is that The Sublime Edge simply killed her and gave her body to the Corpse Grinders, the second one is that she was bound and dropped into a sensory deprivation tank, unable to experience anything ever again for the rest of her unnaturally extended life, and the third rumour going about is that The Edge broke her spiritually and made her into one of his harem girls. Anything is possible with those sick fucks."

"Anyways the guy has around a hundred and twenty two sycophants at his beck and call throughout five different nightclubs, and is said to reside in an off the books location where _anything_ goes."

"And finally we have the blood crazed fools known as The Lodge of The Serrated Truth. These guys are the oldest faction in Vale, going back to The Great War, and they certainly have the numbers to back that claim with around 320 members working at the local slaughterhouse."

"Slaughterhouse?" Azraq asked, his eyes turning a pale red "Then when you mentioned Corpse Grinders, you were referring to this Lodge?"

Tauen nodded gravely "Servants of "The Lord of Skin and Sinew", who they claim is Khorne in an aspect that rules over cannibalism, the Lodge apparently came into existence during one of the worst food shortages of the War. No supplies were reaching the city because the convoys were being picked off by the Grimm horde and so the people starved….. Until a local butcher realized there was a large supply of meat being brought in everyday, he just had to wait until they died. The stories also go into detail about which part of the body make up the choicest cuts and how faunus's tended to taste like their animal part, but needless to say they're a crazy bunch of killers who we're really going to have a hard time convincing to help us, what with you being a "you know what"."

"So now this project is a "we" situation." Azraq mused, looking so smug that Taeun would reach over and punch him if they weren't in a public place, but even then he was barely holding back. "Don't worry, they'll come to our side, if not for the bloodshed then it'll be because of the fact that the Duardin will be upgrading our weaponry."

"That's a good poi-wait what do you mean Duardin?!"

"The Duardin, you know, formerly mountain dwelling people around five foot four inches in height, have the greatest beards of all time, highly clannish, long lived, forced out of said mountain homes and had to roam the earth in work-gangs? There's one such gang over at the railyard maintaining the trains and acting as "Bulls" keeping out the local homeless population and vandals? Which is fitting if one considers who they wors-"

"I know about the Rail Wardens!" Taeun whispered "and how they worship that daemon, what I don't know is how you know of them!"

"...I could go into a highly detailed account of the dark pacts I've signed and the favors I've expended in order to get this information, but to make a long story short I had my (formerly)mortal puppet pull some strings and used one of The Black Queen's pawn's pawn to spy on every possible gang location in the area, in addition to spells and artefacts that were hidden decades in advance, and because my very religion is one of backstabbing I had you triple check my sources."

Taeun let out an angry sigh "This. This right here is why your kind of people are so hated in our culture: You don't trust anyone! It makes sense in the endgame but right now we both don't have enough divine favor to earn a tentacle to replace our dicks, much less daemonhood."

"One) to be fair we don't even trust ourselves, two) speak for yourself you filthy pervert, and three) stop bitching about things you cannot change, now if my calculations are correct we have about five hundred and ninety one people currently in the embrace in the dark gods: 107 Maggotkin, 122 Hedonites, 10 Disciples(including myself), 320 Corpse Grinders, and 32 Azgorhi(**AN: that's what we'll be calling anyone who worships Hashut)**."

"That's enough to conquer a small town, but not the Hunter Capital of the entire world."

"I know, that's why I've also gone through the trouble of locating three potential…. let's say "Recruitment Centers" that we need to take before the Crusade can truly kick off, and if all that fails I have plans to ally ourselves with the White Fang."

Tauen dropped his food onto his plate "Careful with that name drop, despite Vale's lax attitude towards cops actually doing their jobs, admitting to wanting to ally with a terrorist organization in the wrong place near the wrong people will end you in a cell with a big man named Tyrone.''

The sorcerer shook his head in disgust"I swear you should've been a hedonite the way you think!" before becoming serious once again "Don't worry, if everything goes mostly according to plan, then we should be just fine."

"Mostly?"

"Well, one has to factor in The Will of The Gods"

And at that statement both teens knocked on the wooden table four times, paid their bills, and left with plans on meeting once again at a later date.

**Later that night**….

Taeun walked the streets of Downtown Vale, marvelling at the lights and the hypocrisy. It used to be no one wanted to come to Downtown areas in cities because that's where all the criminals and Faunus lived, now it was all start up businesses, "unique" clothes stores, and microbreweries as far as the eye could see. This was the creed of Nurgle made manifest, decay leading into new life and back again in a never ending cycle as whole districts prospered and fell to the evercrawling march of time. It was times like this that made his decision to turn from the False Brothers look like the right choice, for now he was enlightened to the true powers of the world. Since he had some time before his next grueling shift he decided to duck into a nearby store to see if they had any new virology books/magazines in stock.

**A few minutes later(AN: I know this is the second skip of the chapter, but I'm not rewriting the entirety of episode 1).**

That gods damned sorcerer had put a curse on him.

That was the only reason he could think of as a reason for him to be caught in such a string of bad luck, no one was this unlucky in real life. He had been minding his own damn business inside the store, browsing at the local medical magazines while this girl in a red cloak was looking at the weapons section when a bunch of goons and Roman "motherfucking" Torchwick came out of nowhere and decided to rob the place. So what if when one of the goons came over to him and Red he decided to throw the first punch, it wasn't like he pulled out a SCYTHE-SNIPER RIFLE COMBO or anything! But no~ the huntress who arrived on scene(once again before the cops) saw fit to put both of them under arrest and sent them to the local police station!

"I swear to the Grandfather I'm gonna murder him if this was his fault…." he muttered as the girl placed her head on the table in what was clearly shame.

"Hey," he said to get the girl's attention, prompting fear filled silver eyes to look into his pissed off yellow "Relax, odds are you're not in any serious trouble, maybe a slap on the wrist and a lecture at most."

"... you really think so?" Gods this girl was young!

"You're studying to be a huntress right?" He got a nod "Then they'll let you go, they need everyone they can get to fight the good fight against the Grimm; as for myself I'm probably spending a night or two in a cell."

"Wait, aren't you a huntsman in training as well?" the girl asked "I mean the way you flat out decked that one guy made it seem like you're from this year's graduating Signal class at least."

Taeun let out a raspy chuckle at that guess "Gods no, truth be told I was just browsing at the magazines before heading to my shift at the sewage treatment plant….. I see that look you're giving me but somebody has to do it. No, I learned how to fight like that from the good old school of the street."

There were a few moments of silence before either of them spoke again "I don't believe I've introduced myself, I'm Taeun. What's your name?"

"I'm Ruby, Ruby Rose." the now named Ruby introduced herself "Nice to be…er…. Arrested with you." she said as she extended her hand, to which Taeun eagerly shook in return.

"Well Ruby, don't look now but I think things are about to get a whole less pleasant." Taeun said as the huntress who arrested them came into the room, followed by a man in a green suit with silver hair.

Ozpin "The Great and Terrible", headmaster of Beacon.

He was really going to kill Azraq the next time they met.

**And with that chapter 4 is now complete, don't worry Taeun Isn't going to Beacon, I just needed a way to get the forces of Chaos on Ozpin's radar early into the story besides "detecting magic". Now we have the various factions that need to be brought together for the Crusade to take off mapped out, let's see how negotiations turn out next time! **

**Like and review if you can.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Welcome back to Dark Changes! Where the Gods are real and their servants plot to bring about everlasting war! Now with that said let's get onto answering some reviews **

**from our followers.**

**Jetjedi: SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!**

**Expeor: Like my last Rwby/Warhammer fic I tend to mix Sci-Fi and Fantasy(especially when it comes to chaos), for example the Corpse Grinders are from Necromunda, and Azraq is intended to be a Master of Possession, and "The Nine Ravens" are… Well I'm afraid you're just going to have to read the story to find out.**

******Also fair warning: updates on this might be awhile as I'm heading to college, working on two or three other stories(dear god), and am considering writing my own book. **

**Chapter 5: Threats and Piety**

In the dark warehouse his puppet had purchased in preparation for his arrival, Azraq worked to restore nine suits of armour for war.

To do so required knowledge in three different subjects: Sorcery to bind them to his will, Smithing to fix the rents and cracks in the armour and weapons, and finally ancient mortuary practices known to a dying breed of priest from a kingdom that is all but forgotten to appease the damned souls that howled inside. It is slow and tedious work, more suited for one of Nurgle's lumbering oaths if not for the fact that they rarely cared for their weapons or anything besides the foul plagues brewing inside them. But no one of Azraq's brotherhood would let their charges be touched by some…. _Outsider_, not without properly making sure they could control said outsider's every single move(and making sure they could be sacrificed later).

And so he went to work, diligently reciting the necessary prayers to gods who had long been consumed by a power older than mankind as his mind created a complex network of interconnecting geometric patterns that connected him to the remnants of souls residing within the bare suits of armour. Time slowed as he went about his task, etching a new rune here and there as he reapplied azure paint to hide the bronze and clay mixture of the armoured tomb.

"Why do you care for them?"

Making sure a part of his mind continued to weave and maintain the growing web of patterns Azraq turned to face The Tattered Scholar, the daemon had warped its stolen flesh to the point that it resembled an yellow pages depiction of a arachnid faunus, with multiple eyes and a set of mandibles hidden behind a ragged cloth. It's borrowed skin was greying and cracking under the pressure of keeping a being of pure spite and manipulation contained in a realm where it simply does not belong.

"Why do you care for these pawns? Their fate was sealed long ago by The Grand Architect, but you and your kind still treat them as if they could stab you in the back at a moment's notice."

Azraq scoffed at the daemon "As if a creature such as yourself could ever understand an iota of our reasoning."

"I think I should understand you, after all I've been beside you since the beginning, and we both know I'll be beside you when your little flame burns out."

Before the two could go through the motions of an argument they have had seemingly since time began there was a knocking on the warehouse door. Curious, Azraq activated one of the minor surveillance spells he had placed throughout the warehouse and nearby buildings to see that it was a very pissed off Taeun. He slowly opened the door only for the pissed off Nurglelite to barge right past him screaming "Did you have anything to do with what I just went through?!"

"...Not that I know of…." Azraq cautiously answered, sending a portion of his consciousness towards the Nine Ravens in preparation for a rather one sided fight as The Tattered Scholar silently edged closer to their angered pawn/ally, its fingers slowly morphing into jagged claws that would make a beowulf jealous.

"So you didn't pull some machiavellian scheme to get me arrested and then interviewed by the Headmaster of Beacon?"

All sorts of alarm bells were going off in the "young" sorcerer's brain as Taeun's sentence registered in his fragmented mind "why in the name of The Four would I want that to happen?"

Taeun's anger was slowly giving way to confusion as his disease-addled reasoning began to fall apart, "I don't know, maybe to mess with his head? Showing him that there's a revolution brewing? That the faithful are uniting into an army-"

"That so far consists of you, me, a daemon in a meat puppet, and less then a hundred cultists?!" Azraq interrupted, pacing back and forth as he muttered curses in a dead language, "Look, I know that my kind have an extremely well deserved reputation of fucking our enemies and allies over in the name of some grand scheme, but I will be completely honest here- I'm not kidding- and straight up say that I had no intention of getting you arrested. It's too early in the game to let anyone see the cards we've been dealt."

"So… this wasn't some 'Just as Planned' thing?"

"No this wasn't some 'Just as Planned' thing."

A few moments of silence passed between the odd trio before Taeun let out a sigh, "Well in that case I'm truly sorry for accusing you of being a machiavellian dick(even though you probably are one), besides I learned three really interesting came out of this whole mess."

"And what, pray tell, would those three things be?" Azraq asked, a sense of fate hanging in the air.

"For one thing I met a rather interesting young girl with a big ass scythe," oh Gods damn it- "And Ozpin must be getting desperate for new recruits as he offered said girl and myself, a person whose fighting experience comes predominantly from street fights, a place at Beacon."

Now that was very interesting. "Did you accept it?"

Taeun let out a raspy chuckle "Gods no, I mean come on that deal sounded like something out of a poorly written fanfic. Finally, and this is the most important bit, I overheard a couple police officers talking about how they're about to send a bunch of convicts to the "Crazy Farm", including a Duardin."

Taeun could see the gears turning behind the sorcerer's everchanging eyes at this particular bit of information. Duardin, no matter how twisted they might be by the powers of the Dark Gods, are an immensely prideful race and don't let debts or insults go away easily, plus depending on the other prisoners they could potentially score some new recruits for the crusade! And if not then they'd be good fodder for daemonic sacrifices/possession.

"When are they shipping out the convicts?"

"Early in the morning, that way the public won't see them leave and the prisoners will still be groggy enough not to realize they're being sent to die."

"How many guards?"

"From what I've heard about this sort of thing? protocol is six drones for the main bus, plus two jeeps with Anti-Grim auto turrets, and a scout vehicle."

"Where did you hear that last bit of information?"

"I got it from Junior."

The Scholar let out a low chuckle "This meatsack's remaining memories confirms this, how many souls are they sending to be slaughtered by the feral children of the False Brothers?"

"Sixty two, excluding the Duardin," Taeun's grin was nearly ripping his skin in how wide it was growing "Seven times Seven, it's as good an omen as I've ever seen."

Azraq rolled his eyes, numerology was hardly the most reliable source of divination, but then what was? "I agree, gather your men and bring any weapons you've managed to scrounge up that could pin down that bus; I'll secure the planned route and draw up a plan." As he spoke the Nine Ravens began to glow with a pale blue fire as the magicks bound within them were activated.

Early the next morning Azraq woke before the crack of dawn and began to enclose himself in his armour, saving the horned helmet for last as a private ritual before muttering a prayer to his old and current patron for success and wisdom in the task to come. With that said he opened a small portal into the realm of Chaos, briefly glimpsing the sanity breaking logic of that realm before appearing on top of a small hill with the Nine Ravens standing in perfect formation, armed with the spears and shields of their past lives. In the undergrowth Taeun was lying in wait with twenty of his most trusted cultists who were armed with surprisingly functional AK-47's and knives covered in the foulest diseases they could come up with on such a relatively short notice. A flashing of a broken mirror signaled that the convoy was coming fast, meaning he had to move even faster.

Bringing his thoughts into the proper sequences Azraq reached out into the void and called upon the power of the shadows to bring about a fog thick enough that one could literally cut it with a knife if they were inclined. It was a draining task as the winds were constantly being suppressed in the mortal realm, a celestial "Fuck you" courtesy of the Brother Gods mere moments before they wiped out all of humanity for uniting under the one who would become the Black Queen, Salem, in a foolish attempt GT mm bom to overthrow them. Where magic was once able to flow freely there was barely enough to stir an etheric breeze, and to tap into it was to extract a high price. It didn't help that Azraq wasn't skilled in the winds of shadow magic, but that wasn't important, the only thing that mattered was the plan.

Once the fog was in place Azraq and the Rubricae made their way to the center of the road, the automaton corpses forming a shield wall as the sound of vehicles grew closer. The scouting vehicle ran straight into the wall, its rider was impaled upon three different spears as she unleashed a blood curdling scream.

"That's your cue Taeun," Azraq muttered under his breath as his brothers lowered the half dead woman onto the ground, a look of utter terror and desperation on her quickly paling face, "Hello there young lady, what's your name?"

"He….Help…. Help me….."

"Help me? Well I knew that this day and age has a rather interesting naming convention, but I don't think that there's a color by that name." Azraq lightly mocked as he pulled a kris from a sheath on his belt. "However,I will help you, and in return I do not require much, just your wretched husk of a body..." And with that he brought the blade to the young woman's flesh, and began his next ritual.

Taeun was having the time of his life.

His head was ringing like a church bell and he felt like he was about to throw up an all-you-can-eat buffet, but that was nothing new. But that did not matter, all that mattered was the fact that he and his men would be spreading Nurgle's precious gifts to so many people. The plan was to wait for Azraq's shield wall to march up after taking out the scout, but the sorcerer made his spell too perfect, the convoy had slowed to a near standstill in order to avoid being ambushed by Grimm. The two jeeps had deployed their defensive turrets, the artificial intelligences slaved to their circuitry. Not that it really mattered to him or his fellow knights of disease, as they were quickly succumbing to a feverish haze.

"GLORY TO NURGLE AND THE GARDEN ETERNAL!" and with that the cultists charged the slowed vehicles, the war cries of the devoted and their rust decay claimed weaponry clashed with the whirring bursts of the turrets and the deadly rain of lead and Dust pouring from their barrels. Against all but the most ancient of Grimm this would be enough to turn a decent horde to shreds, against most huntsmen this barrage would break aura in seconds before filling the air with a red mist. But the Grandfather gives his children many gifts, chief amongst them a remarkable resilience to such a petty thing like pain.

Taeun felt twelve rounds tear through his emancipated frame, but that did not stop him from reaching the front of the jeep, so close he could make out the frightened looks in the driver and his passenger's eyes at the sight of his free flowing blood mixing with the dirt that covered his ragged suit. Smiling beneath his mask he brought his flail down in a wide arc, brutally silencing the throaty growl of the vehicle.

Azhan Oathbreaker, Forge-Disciple to Zharraz the Cold, Endrinkuli of "The Railyard Bulls", was angry.

Forget the fact that he was arrested while trying to capture a worthy sacrifice for his master's latest ritual(he now suspected that this was just a ploy to get rid of him) and was deemed unfit to stay in the umgak city, or that he was chained up next to a crying Owl Faunus who was missing her right arm from the elbow down and an unashamed pedophile, no he was angry for one simple reason.

The guards had tried to _shave _his beard while he was asleep.

The moment he felt the cream upon his face he awoke and attempted to choke the guard to death for such an insult he felt the winds of magic stir and the shadows thicken before everything went to shit. After all, why waste time killing a dumb human quickly when he would soon have the chance to make every single moment a form of agony so painful the children of The Lost God would be sickened?

The driver had been killed by a stray bullet from one of the turrets ricocheting off some idiot's aura, so the leaders of this daring raid had to beat the reinforced metal doors to gain entry. What surprised Azhan was the fact that the two champions were a plague touched loon of the grandfather clothed in rags and scrap metal, and a schemer of Tzeentch who seemed to flicker in between this realm and the beyond. Eventually the schemer took the initiative, taking a step towards his row.

"Greetings to you, the oppressed and unwanted peop-" he was interrupted by one of the guard's remembering that he was supposed to do something and opened fired, only to have the sorcerer bring his aura up around him and spit out a hateful incantation that saw said guard become a charred corpse.

"...Greetings to you, the oppressed and unwanted people of Vale." The sorcerer continued, causally stepping over the pile of charcoal he just created "For that is what you are, is it not? The ill, the lame, and the wretched parasites of the "Kingdom" of Vale? Unfit for civilized society because you were not born rich, suffer from an illness with many symptoms, or are simply not a member of a so called "pure" race.'' The owl faunus next to Azhan seemed to shrink as the sorcerer continued on "Indeed it seems as though even the Brothers Oum do not give a damn about you, for your prayers go unanswered." The schemer paused for a moment, before taking off his helmet to reveal eyes burning with an ever changing flame "That is because brothers and sisters you have been lied to."

"The Twins are not the rulers of the realm beyond the veil, they are barely jesters were it not for Gorkamorka and his menagerie of aspects filling that role so nicely in the eyes of the true powers that be!"

"Gaze into my eyes and see the first Primordial Truth, The True Gods reward those who follow them willingly! Be you a warrior dedicated to The Axefather, an architect worthy of The Changer of Fate, a stalwart champion of traditions in the name of The Lord of Decay, or an artist seeking a muse in The Prince/Princess of Pleasure! All are welcome!" with that said he aimed a pistol he pulled from seemingly thin air and shot the guy sitting next to Azhan straight through the head.

"However, I for one cannot stand pedophiles."

**So sorry this took nearly three months to post, I swear I will get the next chapter up sooner, until next time everyone.**


End file.
